


we can be monsters (we only choose not to be)

by astronomical_ly



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Percy Jackson, Bloodbending (Avatar), Boys In Love, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Character Study, Dark Percy, Dark Percy Jackson, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Gods of Olympus Bashing, Good Luke Castellan, Haunting, Heavy Angst, Hurt Percy Jackson, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, Im not sure yet, Introspection, LITERALLY, Luke Castellan Redemption, M/M, Mental Instability, Not Canon Compliant - The Trials of Apollo, Oblivious Luke, Oblivious Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Poseidon (Percy Jackson) is a Good Parent, Post-Tartarus (Percy Jackson), Post-The Blood of Olympus (Heroes of Olympus), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerful Percy Jackson, Protective Poseidon (Percy Jackson), Resurrection, Sad Luke, Sad Percy Jackson, Slightly Insane Percy Jackson, Slow Burn, So fucking slow, Some Plot, Sorry Not Sorry, Sort of? - Freeform, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, What-If, Why Did I Write This?, Why do I do this to myself, Zeus Being an Asshole (Percy Jackson), ahahha i literally have so much anxiety writing this, and push my idiot boys together into a broom closet, and really sad people with shit emotional capacity, but that is NOT the case, but with percy's powers, excluding poseidon, hades and hermes, i just want some, i know the summary makes it seem like there's gonna be this huge mission for percy to go on, i want to die, like omigod the romance in this is so fuckin slow, maybe apollo, ngl, not much though, percy is shit at processing human emotions, so does luke, so he kind of just alternated between being sad angry or confused, so they can kiss their feelings away, this story is basically a huge, zeus is kinda a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomical_ly/pseuds/astronomical_ly
Summary: “Every night before going to bed, I pray that when I wake up, I'll remain human.  Every morning, I can't help but be afraid that when I look into the mirror, I'll see a monster.”or; It's been a year since Tartarus, and everyone's moving on.  But not Percy.  When the Fates dump a newly resurrected Luke Castellan on his lap, things take a turn for the worse - or do they?This work is on hiatus for now.  Why, you ask?  Two words.  High school. :)
Relationships: (past) Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan/Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Poseidon
Comments: 103
Kudos: 284
Collections: Percy Jackson, Percy x Many, Storycatchers' Stories of the sea, percy jackson fics





	1. at the end of the line

**Author's Note:**

> hey it's auroni ;) thanks for clicking on this work when you could be reading something infinitely better :)
> 
> ahaha idek wtf im doing with this i just found an old sad percy oneshot thing in my drive and just decided i wanted some lukercy to go as the side of the main course of sad, broken, tired, percy jackson. and of course, angst is my forte, so there will be an extra helping of that on the side ;)))
> 
> let me tell you, i have _so_ big of a bone to pick with rick for totally glossing over the depression, ptsd, and trauma part of the series and i will legit _kill_ anyone who says that after coming out of these two wars, percy (and other demigods) _doesn't_ have any form of ptsd, depression, or trauma.
> 
> thank you for coming to my ted talk :)
> 
> p.s. when they eventually resume, updates will be mostly every week or every other week. high school is a fucking chore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Who is he, really? 
> 
> Is he really here, or is the real him buried inside of all the doubt and self-loathing and cold? If he really tries, can he even bring that old Percy back? 
> 
> Or is the old him gone for good?)"

Percy stares out at the sea.

The sea is beautiful today, the waves glimmering, sparkling, underneath the rays of the bright sun, and when Percy breathes in, the smell of ocean and salt fills his nostrils. 

Behind him, he can hear the laughter and sounds of the campers pranking each other and sparring and picking strawberries; of them just having a good time. Their laughter vibrates around him, ringing strangely in his ears. 

They sound... happy.

(One corner of Percy's mouth quirks upward. He's gratified to listen and know that even after two wars and so many deaths, these kids have it in themselves to be happy, or at least to _try_. 

These kids are infinitely better than him is so many ways - 

He can't remember the last time he laughed.) 

Listening to their sound of joy and delight, Percy feels an alien feeling welling up within his chest. It balloons right up in the middle, pressing against his sternum until Percy is reminded of the time he’d sunk into the muskeg in Alaska, when it had felt like the mud was stifling his mouth and lungs until he couldn’t _breathe_.

He is _not_ in Alaska, but the same feeling presses into him, when the sounds of elation reverberate within his ears. 

And when the unexplainable feeling of _longing_ and _loneliness_ , threatens to choke him, Percy is reminded that no, _he does not belong here_.

He has known that he does not belong here ever since the Giant War had ended. Percy _knows_ that he’s changed too much for him to ever go back to the way things were _before_ Tartarus happened, before he turned _cold_ , before Annabeth left him.

Percy smiles, but the smile is more of a painful grimace, when he thinks of Annabeth ending whatever love Percy had thought they had. 

* * *

_“You’ve changed, Percy. You’re quicker to temper, you lash out for the littlest of reasons, and you sometimes get this intense, scary look in your eyes when you're angry. I’ve seen you mad before, but you look… evil, Perce, as much as it pains me to say this. I’m sorry, Percy, I really am, but I just don’t know how to deal with it, I don’t know how to deal with the new you. It’s like you’re an entirely different person. You aren’t the Percy ‘Seaweed Brain’ Jackson that I fell in love with. I can’t go on loving a person that I’m not sure exists anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do_ us _anymore.”_

The way she let him go had been all Annabeth; the words said with businesslike efficiency, gentle and calm at the same time, clearly meant for his reassurance, but instead had only served to create a lump in his throat, threatening to choke him with repressed emotion and _hurt_.

He can remember what he felt when he finally realized what was happening. 

(First came the surprise, then the cold, then the fiery self-loathing, and then, like always, like how everything always seemed to end for him, the numbness.

He felt so _numb_.

He wishes he could feel _something_ \- anything - it's better than feeling nothing at all.)

The longer she spent talking, Percy’s heart felt like it was being encased in a thin layer of ice. His heart broke little by little, but he knew what she had said was true. 

It hurt to hear the love of his life speak to him as if he was nothing more than a stranger (which he supposed he was, in a way), but Percy had hoped maybe Annabeth would understand. After all, she, too, had been there with him when he was down in there - down in the - the _Pit_. 

There was no telling what he might've done if he was down there all by himself, there was no telling what might've _happened_ , but at the time, it hadn't mattered. Because he _wasn't_ alone. He had Annabeth. She was the only one who understood him, understood what he had been through, and yet here she was.

That was what hurt the most. Even when talking about something as _hurtful_ and _painful_ as breaking up, Annabeth was right. She was right when she said that he had become someone else. That he had become a _stranger_. She was always right. Percy supposes he should be used to this already, but even now, Annabeth never fails to find new ways to surprise him. 

That was the day Percy realized that if _Annabeth,_ of all people, couldn’t love him as he was, broken and scarred, and changed, no one would. 

As much as it hurt to admit this to himself, he knew it was true.

(He might be a revered hero, the survivor and fighter of two Great Wars, but the best he could ever become would be a legend, a myth, and the worst... someone not worth remembering.

To be remembered as the hero that was hit so many times over, he finally let himself go.

And _shattered_.)

* * *

Some days Percy feels like a ghost, a stranger, even to himself. 

He isn’t the person he was. 

And everyone knows it. 

(Who is he, _really?_

Is he really here, or is the real him buried inside of all the doubt and self-loathing and cold? If he really tries, can he even bring that old Percy back? 

Or is the old him gone for good?)

And although everyone tries to hide it, Percy can _see_. No matter what he knows some people say about him, he isn’t dumb, or stupid. His time in Tartarus should have been enough to convince everyone that he can’t afford to be unobservant or oblivious to his surroundings. 

He can _never_.

When he visits his mother on the weekends and his mother bakes him cookies and asks him about his day, when he shrugs and says, _It was fine_ , his mother’s lips pinch downwards and he pretends not to see the look of disappointment on her face. 

When Chiron holds the camp's daily senior counselor meetings and asks him for any input on the training of the little ones with an encouraging sort of smile, when Percy shrugs and says, _It was fine_ , Chiron sighs and looks away, but not before Percy catches the look of disappointment, the sad resignation ingrained into the lines of his face, making Chiron actually _look_ his physical age.

(He seems to age before Percy’s eyes, and Percy can’t help but feel guilty because _he’s_ the one that caused him to look like that - but what can he do, really?

They should have known by now to stop putting their faith in a hero who has fallen so hard.

They should have known no one goes into war and comes out of it looking the same.) 

When Percy is walking along the beach and Annabeth comes up to him, reminding him that it’s a special day and asking him _what did you get me Seaweed Brain?_ , when Percy stares at her blankly, half of his conscious still mulling over the hellish nightmares he’s just woken up from, Annabeth’s expression falls and she says, _Oh. I thought you would’ve remembered our anniversary._

It's times like these when Percy just wants to scream, he wants to yell, _I’m sorry I forgot our anniversary date, it’s also coincidentally the same date in which millions of demigods perished, the Titan War, don’t you remember that Annabeth, I fucking failed to save so many of them I could’ve saved them but I failed I failed I failedIfailedIfailedIfailed_ , but he's become an expert on not speaking of the darkness that plagues his thoughts half the time, so he resigns himself to gaze at her, his face as unreadable as the ocean on its mild days, and watches as Annabeth chokes back unbelieving sobs, her face heart-crushing to look at, and Percy desperately wants to say something, wants to say _I’m sorry, but I can't help it, I'm sorry I'm such a mess, I'm sorry, you don't deserve this_ , but his throat shuts itself off, his vocal cords don’t work and he remains standing on the beach, his toes digging into the soft sand, the sea breeze tousling his hair around his face while he watches her walk away trying not to cry.

He’s disappointed almost everyone he cares about in his life, with the exception of maybe Tyson, who doesn’t bother him often because he's always too busy being a General of the Cyclops Army to know just how much his older brother has changed, and Mrs. O’Leary, who is always uber-happy to see him when he drops in for a visit, to play ‘Get the Greek’ or ‘Tag’. (Although she’s a dog, so that’s really not an achievement to be proud of.)

‘Lo and Behold, everyone, Percy Jackson, Twice-Time Saviour of Olympus, when you strip away everything on the outside, all you get is this sorry excuse for a human being. 

(A disappointment. That’s what he’s become. 

Really, maybe that’s all that is left.)

* * *

Maybe the final push is when he gets injured fighting one of the monsters outside of the camp borders, and he wakes up in the infirmary with no one by his bedside. It’s not like Percy would have expected anyone to be there anyway, considering his recent behavior, or rather, the _lack_ of it, but he spots the nectar and ambrosia on his side table (so they must not hate him enough to leave him to his injuries), and he wolfs down the ambrosia square. 

He doesn't expect to falter at the taste. 

It still tastes like his mother’s blue cookies, the chips still warm and melting, but it is also slightly bitter, as if it can tell that it’s no longer quite the taste of home. He'd heard about something like this happening to Jason, and mentally scoffs.

Jason explained that he'd felt torn between two homes, Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood, and had to choose what his home meant to him. And Percy understands that, really, he really does understand, but... somehow he thinks it's not going to work out like that this time.

Because, really, for someone who has no home, what does home even taste like?

This might be the moment when Percy realizes how much he’s truly changed.

Because even the taste of his mother’s cooking isn’t enough to comfort him anymore.

(He does not _deserve_ to be comforted, he deserves every ounce of pain and suffering he is getting, because he could not do enough, he _failed_.

He should have done more.

 _He should have protected them better_.) 

The sunlight streams in from the airy windows in the infirmary, basking Percy’s face in a warm glow, casting little sun squares of warmth on his bedsheets, and _yet_ he feels... so wrong. 

He feels cold. Detached from his body. Floating in outer space.

His fingers are like blocks of ice, paralyzing in their numbing cold. His heart is stone, weighing heavy inside his chest.

He has no home.

He has no one.

He is _alone_.

Perseus Jackson, who hasn’t cried once since the end of the Giant War, buries his head in his hands and starts to sob.

* * *

Percy shoves his hands into the pockets of his _HS Swim Team_ hoodie as he tries to force his mind out of that deep, dark abyss within him. 

(Then again, that's all that seems to exist in his mind any more. 

Percy has regrets, his heart is full of things he wishes he could change, but there's no sense in whining about something he can never have any more, anyway.)

Percy startles when he hears the faint noise of splashing, immediately followed by the sound of delighted laughter, and for another aching moment, his heart gives another pang. 

(He feels like a shadow, a ghost residing in a body that doesn’t even feel like his own anymore.

These kids are part of a world that Percy can never be a part of. He’s residing in this world, but he isn’t _of_ it. 

He’ll never _belong_. 

He _can't_.)

Percy turns to take a look for one last time; his beloved camp, this place he once called home. 

The strawberries fields that are warm and ripe in the summer, filling the air with their sweet fragrance; the metallic clangs and clashes of the swords and spears used when campers wanted to brush up on their sparring skills, the big blue house where he’d lay in for the first time five years ago; Thalia’s pine tree, the Golden Fleece glittering in the afternoon sun as it hangs from its branches, Peleus the dragon curled around the base of the trunk snoring contentedly; the campers with their obnoxious sing-alongs in the amphitheater after dinner; the lush green forests in which they’d play capture the flag. 

Percy swallows down the sudden bitter nostalgia that wells up at the thought of this place, which he had called his home for so long, and steps into the ocean. 

He gives himself one last glance over his shoulder, reveling in the sounds he can hear - the sounds he will be hearing for what is likely to be the last time - before taking a shaky breath and stepping further into the water.

When he is submerged fully into the water, he's thankful for the fact that the water only serves to energize him, when all he wants to do is shut his eyes and go to sleep.

No one can tell there are tears sliding down his cheeks, when the tide finally carries him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me TELL YOU  
> no kid goes into two wars and tartarus without getting some form of ptsd afterward  
> literally, i dare you to FIGHT ME ON THIS  
> i will fight anyone who says otherwise  
> on another note, how are you guys liking this so far?


	2. nobody cried (nobody even noticed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It has been said that the eyes are the windows to the soul.
> 
> So he lays himself down, completely bare. Shows him their hero who has been reduced to a shadow of his former self, shows him the chronic pain, the nightmares that just won't go away, everything he has become. Percy lets his older brother look into his eyes and see what’s been left of him."

His father asks him no questions, although Percy knows he desperately wants to. When Percy shows up at Poseidon's palace, he is greeted enthusiastically and treated with reverence by most of the royal court (with the exception of his father’s wife and his godly half-brother, although they’ve always been rather cold towards him - which, he supposes, is quite normal for anyone in their position).

Percy knows he can’t stay.

His father has not talked to him since the end of the second war, so he doesn’t know what Percy has become. He doesn’t know what Percy has been reduced to. He does not know that where Percy’s heart used to be, is just... this something. Nothing gained, nothing lost. Just... _nothing_. 

Something different.

Something colder.

Some _one_ colder.

He doesn't know that Percy cannot care for anyone like he used to.

(Athena once told him his fatal flaw would be the end of him. 

He was naive to not have believed her back then - at sixteen, even after he had led a war, he was still so _unbearably_ naive - naive and foolish.

But Percy understands now. For someone who has no one, where does his loyalty even lie?

Maybe she was right all along.)

But Percy has no doubt that his father and everyone in his court will eventually find out; they will notice the shadow that he has become, and they will push him away; they will look at him as a _disappointment_ , the boy who lived to disappoint, just like his mother and Chiron and Annabeth and the campers. 

Still, it hurts to know that Percy’s father didn’t even bother to know what happened to Percy after Tartarus. 

(Does Poseidon even know what Percy went through?

Most likely not. He _was_ incapacitated with splitting headaches most of the time.)

After they won the battle, Poseidon went back to his sea palace, and Percy went back to Camp Half-Blood.

And that was the end of it.

(Was it, though? Was it really?)

_They don’t care, none of them do, they’re better off without you -_

Then there are the voices.

Percy had forgotten all about the voices. They’d whisper into his dreams, and then leave as suddenly as they came, and when Percy thinks that maybe they’re gone for good, they come back, whispering things that hurt to hear, accusations that are each ten times worse than the one that came before.

Percy isn’t sure when his father finally realizes something is wrong. 

It could be the time he comes across Percy furiously hacking at a dummy made of coral, cutting it into a million little pieces. It could be during lunch one day when Percy picks at his food and eats about one-eighth of his loaded plate when his father looks over his goblet of wine, his thick eyebrows up in his hairline. 

(His stomach seems to have shrunk. He barely eats anything these days - there is always that constant itch, that constant pang of longing and exhaustion and anger -

Oh, but _damn_ can Percy get angry sometimes. He's always _so_ angry.)

Percy's father might have noticed and just decided not to say anything about it - perhaps, Poseidon just wanted to wait for a more appropriate time to confront Percy. Whatever the case, his father decides to address the problem a few weeks into Percy's stay in the underwater kingdom.

It's because of Triton, this time - of _course,_ it's because of him, when is anything ever _not_ because of him - when he decides to make an offhand but condescending (perhaps it can be called scathing) comment about Percy halfway into the 'family' dinner.

Percy doesn’t bother responding in return. 

When Triton insults him (it’s not a very clever insult, but an insult nonetheless), Percy sits there, quiet. He looks into Triton’s eyes and stares. 

It has been said that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

So he lays himself down, completely bare. Shows him their hero who has been reduced to a shadow of his former self, shows him the chronic pain, the nightmares that just won't go away, _everything_ he has become. Percy lets his older brother look into his eyes and see what’s been left of him. 

What Tartarus has done to him.

He's been reduced to an empty husk of scarred skin and painful bruises.

Triton looks and locks eyes with Percy. 

Triton is a god - a minor god, but still a god nevertheless - so he can see whatever Percy wants him to see. He can experience whatever Percy _wills_ him to experience.

_(He's choking on dust._

_Rubble collapsing around him._

_Muscles straining with the effort to keep Annabeth and him hanging onto a tiny ledge._

_Letting go. Falling into the Pit. Flashes of darkness, darkness toomuchdarkness dark and he's soscaredwhat'shappening_

_Misery water. Everything is pointless and then you die the voices arescreaming in his head whywon'ttheystopscreaming_

_Broken glass underneath his feet._ _Liquid fire in his lungs his stomach his body everything hurts -_

_There are Arai too many curses he's killed too many monsters Gods why him_

_Why can't Annabeth see him he's right here -_

_Gods he's dying there's poison in his veins please don't let him die he can't die now -_

_Stop it hurts it hurts ithurtsithurtssomuch - Bob is here Bob came he came for me for us_

_There's black now he's sleeping there's just darkness and dreams_

_What's happening to him where is he_

_Twenty feet of pure darkness Gods help, help I'm so scared_

_Running through the Mansion of Night he can't open his eyes he can't open them_

_There's water now he can use the water_

_They're safe and Bob is here but -_

_Achlys. She is Misery. Don't listen to her. Omigods that's poison she's using poison_

_Rage. Something has shattered inside him he's so **angry** he wills the poison to listen to him_

_Poison is liquid - he can control liquid something is breaking inside him_

_He's choking her she's suffocating she's drowning in her own poison serves you right you fucking bitch_

_Dark satisfaction is running through his body he is breathing heavily on anger and adrenaline_

_Annabeth she looks - she looks scared. She is_ _**horrified** she looks scared of -_

_Annabeth is terrified because of **him**. She is scared **of** him. _

_He stops he's scared what has he done what did he do_

_He's become a monster ohno whathashedone_

_Apologizing he doesn't know what happened Annabeth doesn't hesitate to reassure him but she is still scared_

_Fear is written into the lines of her face he feels terrible_

_Death Mist, they look like dead monsters now_

_The Doors of Death monsters_

_**Tartarus**._

_Oh Gods what's happening why is this happening oh Gods he's terrified_

_Bob and Damien oh no nononono he can't just leave them there they'll die_

_"Tell the sun and stars hello from me."_

_"I will."_

_Clytius the House of Hades fighting -_

_Parthenon, Athens, Giants, fighting, Gods, Camp Half-Blood, Gaea **Leo**_

_Another person who died because of him so many more deaths they didn't deserve to die_

_They were too young they deserved to live_

_Now he's alone he drinks he's shattered he's broken_

_He's not Percy Jackson anymore he doesn't understand why it hurts so much_

_He has nothing left anymore)_

Their gazes are locked for maybe five seconds, but it feels like an eternity. 

When he snaps out of it, Triton recoils hard and almost knocks down his goblet of mead. He's clearly taking a few seconds to compose himself and Percy doesn't care - he gives him the time he needs to sort out everything he's just seen.

Percy doesn't say anything, instead choosing to continue staring at Triton, waiting. 

There's a small spark of satisfaction that blossoms within Percy's chest when he meets Triton's eyes and sees that he's clearly been unnerved.

Triton reaches for his goblet with slightly shaking fingers, and Percy is surprised when Triton gives him a small, sharp, blink-and-you-miss-it, nod. Earlier, when Triton had been doubting his contribution to the ending of the Second Giant War, his tone was reproachful and mocking. Percy is pleased to see that is no longer the case. 

(Triton had always felt overshadowed by the gossip and praise and deeds of his half-blood brother. 

He's a god, he is above such petty things such as _jealousy_ , but he's become used to seeing his father's illegitimate spawn as hailed and praised heroes. 

But when Triton looks at this demigod now, he just sees a child. A child that has been forced to grow up much quicker than his years count for, a child who has been forced to endure and see things that Triton could never hope to survive, a child who has gone through horrors most other deities can only dream of, a war-hardened warrior - but a child nevertheless.

And suddenly, he _understands_.)

Triton's eyes now hold traces of cautious respect and sympathetic understanding. And Percy is grateful - grateful because to Triton, he is the same, not someone to be pitied just because he was broken, just someone who had changed.

The sudden silence at the table is almost deafening; the occupants of the table are torn between throwing disbelieving, stunned looks at Triton and him and sputtering like fishes.

Triton swallows thickly, the noise loud enough for Percy to hear it, and says, "I understand. And... I'm sorry, brother."

Percy ignores the quiet inhales of shock coming from around the table; instead, he smiles - over his sudden desire to cry, over the sudden moisture welling up in eyes - small and tremulous, melancholy painted into the lines around his mouth and eyes. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes - it is hauntingly beautiful, like sprigs of white lily covered in frozen snow, hanging their heads mournfully over cold gravestones.

"I know. I'm sorry, too."

Something changes between them that day.

Triton finds a kindred spirit in his younger brother. And Percy no longer feels so alone.

(They still have a long way to go - but that's okay.

Baby steps.)

* * *

Poseidon finds him sometime after dinner, sitting on the ledge of his window, kicking his dangling legs back and forth like a kindergartener.

Percy looks up once but doesn't say anything. He waits for Poseidon to start talking.

"Son."

"Poseidon," Percy intones blandly.

When Percy chances another glance at him, Poseidon's face is screwed up into a distasteful grimace. When Percy raises a silent eyebrow, Poseidon schools his expression and answers Percy's silent question. "Why must you insist on calling me that?"

Percy lifts his eyebrows again. "I call you Poseidon because that's your name. Is there anything else I should be calling you?"

He fiddles with a loose thread on the cuff of his jeans as Poseidon states (though the way it comes out, it sounds more like a question), "You could call me father...?"

Percy snorts, shaking his head at the god. "You haven't truly been my father for a long, time, Poseidon. I don't see why I must call you father."

When Percy looks up from his jean cuffs, he's mildly surprised to see Poseidon looking hurt and shamed. He looks like a scorned child, with one hand in the metaphorical cookie jar, and Percy can't quite see the resemblance between this man and the god who is supposed to be the Almighty Ruler of the Sea.

In this moment, Percy feels a sudden wave of affection for Poseidon - he loves his father, of _course,_ he does, how could he not - as he shifts aside on his ledge and pats the space next to him, a silent invitation, one that Poseidon recognizes and accepts.

(He's never been one for holding grudges for too long. Whatever enmity he harbored toward his father up until now, melts away like the last bits of rain on a foggy spring evening.)

The two of them are seated on the windowsill for a little less than five minutes in silence.

(Percy doesn't mind, really. It's rather nice just sitting with his father - for a moment, Percy can almost believe that they are normal - that they are just father and son - that Percy is not a broken hero and his father is not a God that's lived for thousands of years. 

His life has been hectic enough that he's come to appreciate the times when there are tiny pockets of silent space.

He's learned to embrace the feelings of peace that come with it.)

Poseidon is waiting for Percy to speak.

(Call it a fathers intuition or - something, but somehow Poseidon understands that this is not something he can control. This is not something he can fix. 

All he can do - in this case - is listen. 

Listen and perhaps provide a father's shoulder for his son to lean on.)

"You once told me that a hero's fate is something you never would've wished on anyone, much less your son. That a hero's life - that a life like _mine_ is just a continuing tale of sorrow. That it is never anything but tragic. You said that you were sorry I was ever born."

"- Perseus, I never meant - "

"- No. No, you meant it," Percy cuts his father off. "Just - just listen to me, alright?"

Percy looks up from his lap to meet Poseidon's eyes, and for a moment, Poseidon is struck by - both - the similarity and difference of his son's eyes to his own. Percy's eyes are the exact shade of his own, sea-green, but they are not sparkling with life and laughter, as they _should be_. Instead, they seem muted with exhaustion and sorrow, and Poseidon's heart _aches_ for this child, _his_ child, who should not have this weight on his shoulders, this burden, it should not _exist_.

Suddenly struck into silence, Poseidon can do little more than nod and wait for Percy to go on.

"Back then I was so angry at you... though I think I was probably just confused. I mean, my father was telling me he would've preferred it if I was never born - I think you knew how I was feeling at that time... but - ", here Percy looks up, and stares into his father's eyes with a smoldering gaze that almost _burns_ in its intensity, " - I understand now."

"You understand... _what_ now?" Poseidon croaks out, his voice cracking in its fit of sudden raspiness.

Percy closes his eyes as he smiles (something inside Poseidon breaks for his son - he looks so _tired_ ).

"My father is a god. And the wars of our fathers will always be our burdens to bear."

Poseidon's eyes sting as he rasps out, "I don't understand - ." 

(But he does - in his heart, Poseidon understands perfectly.

He cannot help but think he has failed as a father - it does not matter, god or no god, he has failed in all the ways that matter.)

"I never understood why Luke wanted to overthrow the gods as a child - why he was so _angry_ , why he wanted to tear you all down. But I understand now. Because I feel the same. I cannot help but hate the gods for what they are - they don't see us as people. To them, we are nothing but a means to an end - to them, we are nothing more than pawns on a chessboard, expendable soldiers to poke and prod into battle."

When Poseidon speaks next, he has no idea how he manages to keep his voice steady. "I have... failed you, haven't I? I have failed to be a good father - "

Poseidon is surprised when one of Percy's hands comes to rest above one of his own, and when Percy speaks, his voice is the gentlest Poseidon has heard from him so far.

"You haven't failed, father. You've done whatever you could have - with the Ancient Laws, there never was much you could have done besides what you did do - if anything, it's Zeus who's failed me - failed _us_ \- failed even his own daughter. I suppose I should hate him for that," Percy says, as his eyes come to rest on Poseidon's face, then look away again, "but I can't. I can't hate anyone. It's just... I'm just so _exhausted_. I don't want this to be the rest of my life, dad, if I continue to do this, I'll... I'll go insane."

Tears in his eyes, Poseidon turns over the hand that is in Percy's and squeezes lightly. "I would never wish the burden that comes with being my son onto you willingly, Perseus. I wish I could free you from all of it, son. I wish I could more than anything."

Percy nods, "I know, father. I know." 

A slight pause. Then; slightly hesitant, "Hey, dad...?"

"Yes, Perseus?"

"Do you think I could maybe have a hug...?" Almost immediately, Percy's cheeks pinken slightly, as he curls into himself and Poseidon thinks fondly through a burst of affection for his child, _there he is - that's the boy I know and love_. 

"It's okay if you don't want to," Percy mumbles in a bout of sudden embarrassment, but before he can even properly finish speaking, Poseidon lurches forward, gathering up his son in his arms and holding on to him tighter than he's ever been held on to before.

Percy is not fond of physical contact, especially not after Tartarus, but he can't help but think that this feels really quite nice.

It's as if his father is gluing together bits and pieces of his fractured soul, in the moments he's embracing Percy.

He doesn't feel quite as broken, he thinks, as he smiles into Poseidon's chest subconsciously snuggling closer, seeking that wondrous _warmth_.

Of course, that is when all things go to shit.

Poseidon suddenly lets go of Percy, rocketing upwards onto his feet, a mildly alarmed and thoughtful expression painted on his face. He looks as if he is meditating, or as if he's just somewhere far, far away. Percy reaches out to lightly touch his father's arm, which is enough to bring Poseidon's consciousness back into his body.

When Poseidon turns around, there is a grim look on his face, as Percy asks, worried, "Father? Is something wrong?"

"The Gods have been summoned to Olympus. Zeus is holding a council meeting."

Percy studies his father's expression, before coolly stating, "That's not all, though, is it?"

Poseidon winces at Percy's tone, before he replies, "You won't like what I'm about to say."

Percy hums noncommittally, before saying "I'm certain I've heard worse," then motions with his hand for Poseidon to go on.

"Zeus has demanded that the Seven be brought as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop-  
> sorry (not sorry) for the cliffhanger guys  
> and that is a wrap for this chapter  
> y'all just have to wait for the next chapter to come lol ;))))  
> i really just wanted some cute poseidon/percy bonding time  
> and yay, amicable god/demigod sibling relationships!!
> 
> my tumblr if you need me: https://astronomicall-y.tumblr.com/


	3. do you know we bleed the same?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He can't do this anymore. He just wants to be left alone.
> 
> So, he straightens his back, steels his spine, takes a deep breath, and looks straight into the thunderclouds of Zeus' eyes, conviction firm on his face, resolve seeping into his very bones.
> 
> 'I wish to cease all contact with the Olympian world.'”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay yayayayay i have FINALLY updated!!! sorry writer's block is a bitch, but we now have about 3k words of new content to keep you sated and happy until the next week/update!!
> 
> *warnings*:  
> some violence  
> bloodbending  
> slightly insane, dark!percy action

Percy supposes he should be more intimidated. He is standing in front of the entire Olympian Council, in all of their burning, glowing, glory, after all.

But - in all honesty, he can't bring himself to care.

(After everything he has faced, forty-feet giants, Tartarus, Mother Earth herself - he can't bring himself to tremble before these twenty-foot tall humanoids - they do not scare him the way it had scared him back when he was new to this world, grieving and alone, afraid of what they might do to him, to his family, to his mother, if he offended them too badly. 

Back when Percy was a bright-eyed twelve-year-old, still marveling at the wonders of this new world. Back when his soul wasn't left to be beaten down and hardened through war.

Back when he wasn't so broken.)

Percy walked in behind his father, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, paid no attention to the gasps of surprise and bewilderment from the Seven (and Nico, Thalia, and Will, who were also there for some reason) as he got to his knees in front of the council, the last one in the line.

Percy is resolutely staring at the floor as he remains kneeling, paying half-attention to what Zeus is saying. He thinks, that once upon a time, he would be the slightest bit worried if he got caught not listening to what the gods are talking about, but right now... he couldn't care less. 

He's so tired. He's just tired, and all he wants to do is go home and sleep.

(Or, at least, try to. The nightmares still show no signs of stopping. Of course, it's not like he expected anything less.)

It turns out, Zeus and the rest of the gods want to reward the ten of them for their “services” to Olympus.

Percy barely keeps himself in check - he is the only one in this room who has played this song and dance before.

(He knows what is going to happen.)

The Seven are all offered godhood, one by one - only Nico and Will decline. 

(Percy knows that as the son of Hades, Nico understands what sort of value death gives life - and ever the loving boyfriend, Will decides he won't leave Nico behind by accepting his own immortality.

Instead, Nico asks to be relieved of his Ambassador of Pluto duties, so that he can spend more time relaxing with his lover; Will asks for the camp infirmary supplies to be expanded upon, the two of them accepting their granted wishes with bowed heads and grateful smiles, and Percy just - he just wonders when they became so _meek_ , so... malleable.

He can't help but feel disgusted.)

When it is his turn, he says no.

The Gods seem to expect this _shocking_ turn of events, if the slight smiles (Poseidon, Hades) or smirks (Hermes, Apollo) on some of their faces are anything to go by. Zeus seems just as unpleased as he was the first time around when Percy had rejected the offer of godhood after defeating a crazy megalomaniac hungry for power.

When the Council asks him what he would like in turn, Percy asks to be left alone.

When Zeus _tries_ to politely ask _what_ in the name of Fates Percy means by _that_ , Percy's only answer is a slightly sharklike smile, one that makes Apollo smother a laugh into the back of his hand, one that makes Poseidon openly grin - although, something in his father's gaze is slightly sad, as if he knows what is coming next.

Percy tries to convey his apologies through his eyes, something in his heart aching at the very thought of leaving his father behind - they've only just gotten their relationship back on track - but he's just so _tired_. He can't do this anymore. He just wants to be left alone.

So, he straightens his back, steels his spine, takes a deep breath, and looks straight into the thunderclouds of Zeus' eyes, conviction firm on his face, resolve seeping into his very bones.

“I wish to cease all contact with the Olympian world.”

Suddenly; an explosion of sounds - a cacophony of protests and outrage from most gods, gasps of shock and hurt from the assembled demigods, but Percy only has eyes for one person - his father.

A light sheen of tears shine within his eyes, but he is smiling. He mouths the words _I am proud of you_ , and Percy thinks of the first time he had heard his father say those words to him - when he'd been confused and naive and hurting - and just like it had back then, Poseidon's words warm him over, thawing away at his bruised and battered soul.

And Percy _knows_ \- he knows he is doing the right thing.

And he stands up, in the middle of the yelling and the shouting, regarding the arguing gods that remind him of squabbling toddlers with disgust.

_“ENOUGH.”_

When his voice comes out, it doesn't sound like anything he's remotely used to - instead, it sounds deep, reverberating with condensed power, ringing into the ears of everyone present - he sounds... different.

He's actually kind of stunned.

(From the looks on everybody's faces around him, it's clear that they are a little more than surprised as well.)

Percy is breathing heavily, and he doesn't know what to do - so many people are looking at him they're staring why can't they stop _staring_ -

Percy closes his eyes and breathes in slowly.

“All of you just shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Percy snarls, shooting a glare that could freeze the Underworld toward the Olympians, who are doing their very best to resemble open-mouthed fish. “I don't give a shit if you're a god or not, because you're also the ones who fucked up my life, so you will _shut your fucking mouth_ and listen to me, got it?”

Silence.

(The kind where you can hear the tiniest of pins make a sound when it drops.)

 _Breathe_ , Percy thinks, _just breathe, you can do this, just fucking breathe_ -

Percy sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge as he directs his words to Zeus.

“Look, Zeus, I don't give a shit about immortality. I don't _want_ it. I don't _need_ it. All I am asking is to be _left alone_. I have been your whipping boy since I was twelve, I have helped save your sorry asses one too many times - and I am _sick of it_. I just - I'm _tired_. Please - _please_ just leave me _alone_.”

“HOW DARE YOU, YOU INSOLENT - ” Zeus thunders, as his form begins to flicker and the air crackles with the metallic taste of ozone. But, a hand on his arm stops him from blasting Percy into oblivion.

“Peace, Father,” Athena consoles, shooting Percy a considering look over her shoulder, before returning her attention to Zeus. “I understand that this boy is incompetently disrespectful, but getting angry will not solve anything. Father... perhaps we should just grant the boys' wishes?”

She looks sly and contemplating at the same time when she says this, shooting a covert look at Annabeth, who still looks lost for words.

 _Ah_.

So that's where Athena's sudden advocacy for his mortality and isolation is coming from.

(If she still thinks that Percy and Annabeth are a thing, she clearly needs to check up with Aphrodite now and then.)

 _Well, the joke is on you then_ , Percy thinks wryly, mentally shaking his head.

Poseidon spares Percy one last sad smile before turning to his brother and saying, “Would you deny my son this wish after he has given up everything for us? Would you deny him the last semblance of peaceful life, after he willingly fell into Tartarus to stop Gaea's rising? Surely even you could not be so cruel, brother.”

Zeus glowers for a minute, and Percy thinks that Poseidon is about to get electrocuted, but - no. He seems to deflate instead and casts a tired look in Percy's direction. 

“Very well,” Zeus sighs, “The little brat may have his wish. We agree to leave you alone.” Then, to the demigods who are still in the throne room, Zeus states, “Perseus Jackson will not be contacted by anyone from our world. See to it that the message is spread.”

Percy breathes a small sigh of relief.

Finally, he's free. (The very thought of it is enough to make him feel giddy with excitement.)

He kneels down once again, well aware that this is the last time he'll ever stand in this room - the last time he'll ever see his father, his uncles, his cousins. (Somehow, the thought doesn't hurt as much as he thinks it would have.)

“Thank you, Council, for honoring my wishes.”

And with that finally out of the way, Percy goes to walk out of the room, head held high; not sparing one glance back - smoke swirls into the room.

It solidifies into the forms of three, old, battered ladies, each one holding the knowledge of a million lifetimes in their milky gazes.

_Fuck._

“ **PERSEUS ACHILLES JACKSON. WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU, THE CURSED CHILD OF OLYMPUS.** ”

The voices of the Three Fates ring out at the same time, vibrating at different frequencies, overlapping each others. When Percy looks around, he sees that his surroundings have been frozen - the gods are still, Annabeth's hand is stuck to her hair, one of Leo's fingers caught in the act of picking his nose.

Percy's defiant gaze slides over to the Fates. “What do you want from me? Haven't I done enough?”

The Fate in the middle laughs, and Percy, who has faced Tartarus and Gaea, Percy who has stood at the edge of Chaos, ran through the Mansion of Night - shivers.

“ **YOU ARE AMUSING, GODLING. YOU HAVE - IN SIMPLE TERMS - DONE MORE THAN ENOUGH.** ”

Percy closes his eyes in relief - but when he opens them again, he can't help the faint traces of annoyance that seeps into his face. “Then what do you want?”

The Fate to the right seems to sag - with something that could be called guilt - before speaking. “ **YOU WERE NEVER DESTINED FOR THE AMOUNT OF SUFFERING YOU HAVE GONE THROUGH. THIS WAS - A MISTAKE ON OUR PART. WE ARE HERE TO REMEDY THAT.** ”

Percy's brow furrows in confusion before he hesitantly speaks. “But - the Gods have given me what I wish. I'm okay with what I have now.”

The Fate to the left closes her eyes in sorrow as the other two sighs deeply. “ **WE ARE SORRY PERSEUS.** ”

Percy's eyes dart from one Fate to another frantically, “What... wait - sorry for what?!”

Instead of answering, the three ladies hold out their left hands, wisps of crackling smoke flying from their palms to Percy himself, knocking him to the floor. 

Then; a bloodcurdling scream - Percy convulsing, his arms and legs spasming, blood squirting out of both nostrils and escaping the corner of his eyes.

Across the country, massive waves hit the shores, tsunamis destroy coastal buildings, hurricanes and whirlpools appear out of nowhere; This is Percy's doing - the eyes of Zeus and Poseidon widen almost comically. (They are gods themselves - although their bodies are frozen in time, they can still _see_ everything in front of them - and they know what the making of one of them looks like.)

After what seems like hours, Percy's screaming comes to a stop, his limbs finally going limp, as he sags against the cold white floor.

The Fates shuffle over to him, tenderly picking up his unconscious body, laying him to rest on a cot in the infirmary to the left of the throne room.

If anyone were passing by, the melancholy in their expressions would make them pause.

(If the Fates were given a choice, they would never have done this to the boy. 

But they don't. 

His destiny is already written in stone.)

* * *

The first thing that comes to Percy's mind when he wakes up is, _What the fuck happened?_

He nearly jumps out of his bed (how did he end up in the infirmary?), when a voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

“ **HOW ARE YOU FEELING, YOUNG HERO?** ”

Percy looks over to the right of his bed, and almost strangles himself for not taking notice of his surroundings sooner. The Three Fates are sitting in three foldable chairs, as casual as can be - so causal that he nearly forgets what has happened to him.

“What - what did you do to me?” Percy croaks out, fearing for the worse. The somber expressions on their faces make the gnawing feeling inside his gut - the feeling that something is wrong - grow bigger and bigger every passing second.

“ **WE HAVE MADE YOU** **IMMORTAL**.”

Percy blinks.

At first, the words didn't seem to register in his head - _what_ _?_ \- but when they do, Percy can't help it when he rockets to his feet, sending his pillow crashing to the floor.

“You made me - _WHAT?!?!”_ Percy yells, a raging inferno of fury boiling in the pit of his stomach - he's half in shock and half in denial, as he clutches his head, the hold tight enough to tear.

He staggers back, crashing into an armchair to the side of his bed, hair gripped between his fingers, pulling manically. “No, no no no, you're lying I can't be immortal -,” Percy chokes out, and he can't breathe, there's too much going on, and his head hurts and his lungs are tightening, and _why can't he damn breathe_ -

In the space of one second and the next, the panicky feeling between his ribs disappears, letting Percy properly able to breathe once more. 

_But_.

He's angry.

He is _so goddamn_ angry.

How _dare_ they do this to him. He'd thrown away his entire _life_ for them, to play their hero, their savior, and this was how he was repaid? Made into an immortal, ethereal being, a being who _can't die_ \- and he'll never be able to see any of his friends again, he'll never be able to tell them how sorry he is -

He looks at these three ladies, with their fake grief and blatant flippancy for Percy and his wishes (although the gods have never cared much in that regard) and that firm simmer of anger seems to grow within his gut. He looks at them, and _knows_ \- 

This is _all_ their fault.

That pit of anger grows and grows until Percy can't hear anything save for the sound of waves crashing and battering against a rocky shore loud in his ears and he tries to breathe through the vicious rage that encompasses his lungs, hunched over, his breath coming out in short and harsh pants.

When the Fates move toward him - to offer him some form of comfort or to work their voodoo magic on him once again, Percy doesn't know, but he'll be damned if he ever lets them touch him again - they lurch violently, coming to a stop.

They stop, because Percy has his clenched fist held out in front of him, because their ichor - the molecules humming at his fingertips - is right within his hands, because their _life_ is now in his control.

(It is so wonderfully ironic, the fact that he controls the lives of these deities - the very same old and decrepit ladies that weave and determine the births and deaths of each life to ever exist.

He looks back on this moment months - years - later, and laughs.)

His eyes are screwed shut tightly, but that does nothing to erase the feeling of _power_ at his fingertips - the feeling of control - and Percy clenches tighter, to the sounds of choked cries of fear. 

(Really, did they think that their status as the children of Nyx would make them immune to whatever Percy can do? He's controlled the ichor in Achlys, who was a child of Nyx too, what made them think they were special?)

His eyes fly open, and when he smiles, it's a bizarre, twisted thing, the Three Fates cringing - or at least, they try to, which is a feat in of itself when Percy is keeping up his iron hold on the ichor in their bodies - at the sight.

(He hasn't tried this since Achlys when he was the Pit. He thinks maybe it's time to accept this. This darkness inside him.He is Percy Jackson, and he is made of both light and dark. He can never learn to be who he is now if he never accepts the darkness inside him - if he never gives it a chance. 

Really, these old ladies should have known better.

They wanted a monster. 

Well, they got one.

 _Time to break._ )

“Oh, don't get all scared now,” Percy croons, the brightly saccharine smile twisting until he's snarling, teeth bared out in a predatory smile, “This is all your fault, or don't tell me you don't remember that _you're_ the ones who decided that making me immortal was a good idea?”

No response, except for the slightly more panicky sounding gasps.

“ _Fine_ ,” Percy pouts, finally releasing his hold on their blood, and sending them falling to the floor in an undignified heap.

The Fates start to shakily sort themselves out, while Percy watches with a suddenly detached, freezing cold expression. When they look up, Percy regards the look of fear on their identical faces with some form of twisted satisfaction before coldly stating, “I'd suggest leaving me alone from now on, if you know what's good for you. Because that right there?” 

Percy leans closer until his face is an inch away from theirs, “That - is only a little _taste_ of what I can do to you if you piss me off. Do we have an agreement?”

The Fates seem temporarily stunned into silence, so Percy seizes up the molecules in their ichor once again (this time they come to his control much easier), fiercely squeezing, and snarls out, “I said. Do. We. Have. An. Agreement?”

That seems to shock them back into coherency, and they nod their heads up and down frantically. 

(They don't look like the Mighty Fates, Weaver of Lives and Snipper of Life Cords, or whatever the hell they're called; they just look like pathetic old women; perhaps all they ever are - all they ever were, all they ever will be - was just that. 

Just three old ladies throwing their weight around and deciding who lives and who dies to cover up their insecurities.)

Percy releases his hold on them and stands straight, looking every inch the dangerous god he has become (he _is_ , he's always been dangerous, he's just never embraced that fact until now) before simply replying, “Good.”

He tears his disgusted gaze from the pile before breathing deeply, focusing on the molecules in his own body.

(He's never tried this before, but he knows it'll work.)

After a moment, he vanishes, disappearing in a cloud of mist.

He's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another cliffhanger - guys i'm so sorry but i'm a sadist and a masochist when it comes to my books, okay? don't kill me, please!


	4. we drift through the doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Percy groggily walks into his small kitchen, raiding the cabinets for something he can eat, eventually settling on a golden grammy smith that he most likely bought a week ago. (Well, you take what you can get.)
> 
> The apple in hand, he turns and walks back to the living room -
> 
> And promptly has a near heart-attack.
> 
> Because, sitting on his living room couch, looking not a day over twenty-two, is -
> 
> 'Luke?!'”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy christmas everyone!! this chapter is your lovely christmas present!! 
> 
> i was listening to [lonely](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrRtd-4fvM8) by justin beiber ft. benny blanco while writing this chapter,,, and all of this sort of just vomited out of me :O oop-

Percy wakes up in his bed to a splitting headache.

The night before is little more than a distant memory, one that leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

( _Percy sobs - his moment of bravado disappearing the moment he appeared in the middle of his living room. All the anger drains out of his body, as his body visibly sagging as he slides down a washed white wall._

_Why? Why did this happen to him?_

_Why couldn't the Fates let him live his life in peace for once?_

_Why couldn't they leave him to die like any other demigod?_

_What made him so special?_

_Why did he have to become someone who never died?_

_Why?_

_Why, what, question after question - they crowd around Percy's head, demanding answers from him._

_If only Percy knew what those answers were._ )

He remembers passing out after the tenth bottle of vodka - after that, his memory is hazy, all distorted and shapeless, and he's thankful for that, shameful of the way he let himself go - he _promised_ himself he would never touch even a single _drop_ of alcohol (he's seen what it does to people - sometimes people can become the greatest monsters of all), he promised he wouldn't become like - like... _Gabe_.

Only one day into his newfound immortality, and he's already turned into his fucking stepfather.

 _Wonderful_.

Though, the thought of him being a fat, old, poker player stone statue with horrible hygiene and chucking up alcohol, is enough to make Percy snort. (It also makes him wonder when his sense of humor became this morbid.)

The motion makes him wince, as he rubs his knuckles across his scalp and swings his legs off the mattress. (One thing Percy's confused about - so he can teleport his drunk ass to a proper bed, but he has to experience hangovers like any other demigod? Immortality makes no sense. Another bullet on the list of reasons why he should exonerate the Fates the next time he sees them.)

A long, hot, shower sounds great right about now, so that's what Percy goes to do first.

He stands there, underneath a torrent of steaming hot water, liquid streaming into his closed eyes, and tries not to think of anything to do with yesterday. 

(The keyword being: _tries_.)

The truth is, he can't help but think of what he'd _done_ to the Fates yesterday; it's hard to forget - no matter how many times he tries to - the feeling of exhilarating high, the sheer _power_ that tingled at his fingertips when he controlled the ichor in their veins.

It was the closest Percy came to killing a goddess - _again_.

He promised Annabeth he would never do it again, he promised that he would never kill _anyone_ that way, no matter what that someone would do to him. He promised because Annabeth was _terrified_ of those new powers he picked up in Tartarus, terrified of _him_. But that's the problem, isn't it? Annabeth isn't here anymore. Percy doesn't have to not do this, because no one is here to tell him not to.

But Percy can't just turn _off_ this... whatever he can do - it is as much as a part of him as him talking to horses, or controlling the damned water. It's always been inside Percy, it was just - waiting for the right moment to unlock itself.

(And what had Annabeth said? _Tartarus brings out the worst in everyone_. 

It certainly brought out the worst in Percy.

 _Ha_. Funny.

The worst of him was already there, it already showed itself before, and Percy was just too stupid to notice the signs - too late, to notice the delicate, dainty splinters of glass that began to chip off of something in his chest.

If he noticed earlier, maybe he could've stopped him from breaking completely.

Or maybe not. Maybe he was always destined to break. 

And what was _that_ if not a fucking tragedy.)

Either way, the fact remains that Percy doesn't have to _hide_ anymore. The Gods agreed to leave him alone, and he's one-hundred percent okay with that. The only problem: his immortality. _That_ is the only thing he hates about his situation.

(He doesn't want to live forever, goddamnit, he wants to be able to fucking _die_ \- )

It doesn't matter now, what's done is done, there's no point in whining and cursing about something that can't be changed.

He has to live with this now.

His immortality is - a part of him now, just as much as the darkness in him is. 

(And if Percy can accept that darkness for what it is, then why can't he do the same for his immortality? He should be able to live with it, _he should_ \- so why can't he?)

Gods, this is so _confusing_. 

Percy really just misses the days when all he had to worry about was Nancy Bobofit getting him into detention and not passing a grade.

Those days feel like something out of someone else's life, memories he knew of but isn't a part of anymore. 

He's... _different_. 

Of course, he is - he's not the child who picked fights with his bully because he couldn't do anything about his stepfather's abuse, and he's not the child who helped his birth father and stopped a civil war because he thought his mother was dead and wanted revenge, and he's certainly _not_ the bitter teenager that fought tooth and nail for Olympus even when they failed him from the start, even though their existence doomed him from the start.

No, he's - he's evolved into something no one knows or can name.

He doesn't know who - what - he is anymore.

He's certainly not human (he's been robbed of that chance, the Fates made sure of it). 

So what remains?

( _Monster_. _God_.

Percy thinks it's somewhat fitting that he's become something in between the two.

He's never done anything by halves.

In a way, it's nice to know that it's the same in this case.)

* * *

When he finally steps out of the shower, his skin feels warm and flushed, even though the little chip of ice inside him continues to fester and grow colder. 

(If he didn't know any better, he would say that that it felt a lot like the physical representation of the growing darkness in him. 

Cold has always been associated with the dark, just like warmth has always been associated with the light.

And _yet_. 

Percy remembers Tartarus, the hot acid air that left cracked blisters on his bare skin, the firewater he consumed through parched lips, and he thinks, maybe the cold isn't so bad after all.)

Even after taking the shower, Percy feels coiled up, drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to snap and attack at any given moment. 

The shower was a way to get him to relax, and yet, he doesn't feel relaxed _at all_.

This thought reinforces his feelings on how Tartarus left him forever changed. 

Then the crushing feeling of anxiety and panic sets in, and he's left feeling blistered palms and the taste of ash heavy on his tongue - for a moment, it feels as if he's back in the Pit, but the feeling clears almost as soon as it comes.

(One of the few benefits of being an immortal god, he supposes.

Oh, but how he hates it.

He hates feeling as if he can't walk around in his own _apartment_ , which is warded so heavily against the gods and monsters that anyone would think someone actually _important_ lived here, and not a slightly reclusive hermit hero of Olympus.)

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

He's okay.

He'll be okay.

Okay.

It's fine.

 _Fine_.

(He's not okay or fine, and he _knows_ that, but he swallows the lie and lets himself believe it for a little longer.)

* * *

By the time he shuffles out of his bedroom, the sun is already streaming in through the windows. He groans lightly, and yanks the curtains closed. Even though he's showered and freshened up, his head feels like it got hit by a truck, and throbs lightly.

Percy groggily walks into his small kitchen, raiding the cabinets for something he can eat, eventually settling on a golden grammy smith that he most likely bought a week ago. (Well, you take what you can get.)

The apple in hand, he turns and walks back to the living room -

And promptly has a near heart-attack.

Because, sitting on his living room couch, looking not a day over twenty-two, is -

“Luke?!”

The figure on his couch smiles nervously, and for a demigod not war-hardened and trained like Percy himself, it would be almost impossible to see the slight hint of nervousness in the smile, the way the edges lilt slightly to the left, the way his fingers continue to tap rhythmically against the side of his thigh, twitching slightly as if to clench into fists - he's nervous.

“Uhh... hi?” Luke offers, raising one hand and waving stiltedly. 

Percy closes his eyes and inhales sharply, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he breathes out, “Ok, so Luke Castellan is sitting on my couch and talking to me. Okay, this is great. Fine. Totally okay. I'm not freaking out. No, sirree.”

“Um, Percy? It is Percy though, am I right? You're Percy Jackson? Um... are you okay?” Luke asks tentatively, half-rising from the couch as if to reach out to Percy, and Percy stops him, holding out a hand and making the universal motion to 'hold it right there'.

“I'm...” Percy breathes out, “I'm... totally okay. Fine. I don't have a dead guy on my couch, I'm _fine_ , totally - I'm... great.”

Percy takes one more moment to digest the situation - no, he can't do it, this is too bizarre, after everything he's seen, this is the straw that broke the camel's back - this is too much for him to comprehend.

Snapping his eyes open in annoyance, he yells out, “Fates?! Get your wrinkly asses down here this instant, you motherfucking meddling cunts!” paying no attention to the wide-eyed, panicked look Luke shoots his way.

When the Fates swirl down into his living room ten minutes later in all of their dramatic, smokey glory, Percy is impatiently tapping his foot onto the tiles of his wooden floor.

“Took you long enough,” Percy glares.

The Fate to Percy's left clears her throat, shifting slightly on her feet and offering up an apologetically sheepish smile. “ **... SORRY?** ”

Percy keeps up the glare, sniffing and retorting, “You'd better be. Don't tell me you've forgotten all about the last time you've pissed me off? If so, then I'm ashamed I didn't leave a more lasting impression, after all, it did only happen a day ago.”

At the mere mention of yesterday, the three Fates visibly tense up, trying to hide the look of fear on their faces.

“ **NO, PERSEUS, WE WERE JUST WONDERING WHAT YOU NEEDED US** **FOR?** ” The Fate in the middle tries to placate, smiling at him, and it's a credit to her when she meets Percy's gaze head-on, no fear showing through the lines of her face.

“Right,” Percy nods, resuming the tapping of his foot against the floor, “I would like you to answer why, in the name of your- _goddamn_ -selves, a demigod who is supposed to be dead-as-a-doornail, is currently sitting on my couch, talking, breathing, and looking very much alive?”

No answer.

(Well, unless the bewildered expression on Luke's face and the increasingly guilty expressions on the Fates' faces is one.)

Percy never thought in a million years he'd ever get to see the Fates looking like they'd been caught with their hands in a metaphorical cookie-jar, but then again, these last few years have been one mind-blowing event after another. Percy _also_ never thought he'd ever go into two wars and come out of it alive, but it happened, and he's here now. 

Here, watching the Fates resemble vaguely scolded children as one of them stated, “ **THE BOY HAS BEEN RESURRECTED. WE PLANNED HIS RESURRECTION MONTHS AGO. WE HAD HOPED THIS WOULD GIVE BOTH OF YOU A CHANCE AT A BETTER LIFE.** ”

“I...” Percy sighs, “Okay. Okay, I get it. But why me? Why not Annabeth?”

The Fate to the right smiles sadly, reaching out to pat Percy's shoulder lightly. “Why do you think, Perseus? The two of you are more alike than you can ever imagine. If there is one person in this world who will understand you better, it is him. Do you not understand?” 

Percy stares at his bare feet for a long time, before looking up to meet the Fates' gaze. “I think I do. Thank you. I'm sorry for letting my anger get the best of me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it, I'm really sorry, _please_ , you have to believe me.”

This time, the three of them smile, and say in unison, “ **WE KNOW.** ”

When they deconstruct into smoke once again and drift upward, vanishing into the ceiling, Percy allows himself a tiny smile. 

His heart feels lighter than it's ever felt before.


	5. don't wanna cry but i break that way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh - they interact. All I can say whoop -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys this is one of my favorite chapters of this book, like im so fuckin excited for you guys to read this!!! eeeeep -

It takes a lot to render Luke Castellan completely speechless.

He's had his fair share of _weird_ in his life. He's held the weight of the sky on his shoulders. He's had a homicidal psychopath possess his body. He's had sex with a vampire-donkey hybrid (as ashamed though he is to admit it). He's both seen and done a lot of strange things that vaguely shouldn't have been possible.

But watching Percy Jackson order the Fates themselves around - and have them actually _listen_ \- has got to be one of the weirdest things Luke has seen by far. 

Luke's eyes are so bugged out of his head he wouldn't be surprised if they permanently stayed that way.

Percy - who the last time he had seen him had been _sixteen years old_ \- offers Luke a cautious smile, before turning away and taking swift, measured steps toward the apartment kitchen.

Luke doesn't know what to say.

It's not the first time, but it's definitely the time that matters the most.

What do you even say to the demigod who you've tried to kill constantly - the demigod who helped you killed yourself, in the end?

In the end, he decides to use: “You look... older.”

This gets him a miniature smile, and Percy leans across the doorframe that leads to what looks to be the kitchen, as he responds in kind, “Yeah, that's usually what happens when time passes.”

Luke huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I - I wouldn't know, obviously, but, it's just - you look more... distinguished.” What he doesn't say is _You look like me, before I left camp._ Or _You look tired, like you've held the weight of the world on your shoulders._ Or, gods forbid something even _more_ embarrassing, like _You look really hot_. 

(Percy _has_ gotten much more handsome, but it's only a fact - it would take a blind man to _not_ see how good he looks.)

Percy shrugs, the movement so casual, Luke wonders at how calmly he's taking everything in stride. It's not like it's every day a dead demigod shows up in your living room, talking and breathing and cracking morbid jokes.

“I'm eighteen now.” And _wow_ , what was that if not a shocker. Luke smiles, albeit a little unsurely, shoving his hands into the pocket of his denim jeans. “So it's been about two years since I - um, since I was gone, right?” Luke asks, wincing the slightest bit. (Honestly. Two years dead and it seems like he's lost all sense of tact.)

Something flickers in Percy's eyes before it disappears and he replies, “Yeah. It has. A lot's happened. A lot's changed.”

Before Luke can figure out what to say to _that_ , Percy heaves himself off the doorframe and pointedly looks at Luke. “There's an extra room down the hallway. I never really had a reason to use it before, but I guess if you're living here from now on, it's yours.”

Luke blinks, taken slightly off-guard. “Oh, um... thank you.”

Percy's chin dips the slightest bit in a ghost of a nod, before he disappears, the sound of quick footsteps eventually fading out of Luke's listening range. As soon as Luke is sure Percy is gone, he sags, all the pent-up tension and energy from the day coming out of him in a single, heavy breath.

This day has been hectic, to say at the very least.

Only an hour ago, Luke was _dead_ , watching the fower fields from his bed in Elysium. The next thing he knew, he blacked out, and found himself sitting on a couch in someone's apartment. (That someone is, who Luke now knew to be, Percy Jackson himself.)

Luke closes his eyes as he sighs deeply, before standing up from off the couch and walking tentatively down the hall. There are three doors; one that has the word “Percy” scribbled on the wood with Sharpie and another that turns out to be a bathroom, after closer inspection. Which means that the last door is his own room.

Luke opens the door, poking his head in to survey the room.

The room itself is standard, with a queen-sized bed pushed off to the corner, a few sparse pieces of furniture littered around it, and though it isn't as fancy as Luke's room in Elysium, something about feels more comforting and like _home_ than his life in actual _paradise_ ever did.

Too tired to do anything but sleep, Luke toes off his shoes, shimmies off his jeans, and pulls off his shirt, falling face-first onto the thick comforters covering the bed, his body melting into the mattress.

He's out like a light before his head fully hits the pillow.

* * *

When morning comes, Lukes wakes up feeling undoubtedly refreshed and rested.

He covers his eyes with one arm, faintly groaning at the harsh, white light streaming in through the windows, before smiling lightly at the feel of warm sun on his skin. _Gods..._ It's been so long since he felt anything around him - the cool cotton sheets against his calloused skin, breathing in the fresh autumn air - and he revels in this again, his body re-accustoming itself to the onslaught of familiar sensations.

He gracefully steps out of bed, stretching like a lanky cat after an hour spent in the sunshine, wincing lightly at the audible popping noises that can be heard as Luke stretches out all of the cricks in his back.

As he dresses quickly and silently into a pair of soft, cotton pants he found in the closet and the t-shirt he was wearing yesterday, he can't stop the tiny grin that continuously threatens to break into a wider smile.

( _He's alive_ , Luke thinks, in giddy fascination and disbelief.)

He breathes in deeply, bracing himself for anything as he goes to open the door to his bedroom.

The hallway is silent, no sound escaping from the kitchen or living room. This means that either Percy is still sleeping, or he's already awake and is just _extremely_ good at remaining silent. (A feat for any ADHD, dyslexic demigod, he's sure.)

Luke quietly closes the door behind him, his footsteps sounding monstrously _loud_ in the dim silence of the morning. As he nears the living room, he's met with the sight of one Percy Jackson lying spread out on the couch, one arm over his face.

Luke can't quite tell if he's sleeping or not.

That question is answered when Percy removes the arm as soon as Luke steps foot into the living, smiling cautiously, if not a little nervously. “Um... hey,” Luke says, and wants to smack himself. How awkward is this?

Percy smiles. “Hey. Good morning. Did you sleep okay?”

Luke nods, rubbing his arm subconsciously. “Like the dead,” he confirms, and then immediately wants to take back what the words; if the darkening expression on Percy's face is anything to go by, Luke would probably be better off not mentioning anything about the dead, _at all_.

Percy swings his feet off the couch, and heaves to his feet, standing up. “I'll go make us some breakfast,” Percy says, heading toward the kitchen.

Luke shifts a bit more, before blurting out, “You know why I'm here, don't you?” thinking, _fuck it, what does it matter now anyway_ , not expecting Percy to respond with anything at all. So you can say he's a little more than surprised when he gets a small smile in return, and a quiet, “I might.”

Luke waits for him to explain, but Percy remains quiet, instead continuing his way to the kitchen and hauling out a loaf of bread and a block of cheese from the refrigerator. Then, after a moment, Percy speaks. “There's a reason why you're here. I don't know to be exact, but I've got a pretty good idea.”

Luke has never felt more out of his depth than what he's feeling right now.

“So...?”

Percy doesn't look up, still busy taking bread out of the bag and slicing up pieces of cheese. “So what?”

This time Luke can't help the slight noise of frustration that escapes his lips at the not-answer. “Aren't you going to tell me?”

When Percy looks up, any noise of protest dies within Luke's throat. Percy's eyes swim with so many emotions, Luke doesn't know where to start. There's slight confusion there in the depths of Percy's eyes, as well as the familiar bitterness Luke has seen in his own every time he looked into a mirror. 

But what takes him by surprise is the sheer amount of anger hidden beneath the confusion and bitterness; for the first time, Luke thinks - Luke _knows_ \- that this anger is not directed at him. The force of this anger is for something - someone - else.

Percy's lips twitch, and Luke is struck by the sight of it, the ends twisting upward, forming a bitter mockery of a smile, the eyes haunted and pained and woefully _empty_. “Are you really sure you want to know?” Percy asks, tilting his head to the side, thin lips stretching themselves over white teeth, and something inside Luke whispers fearfully _I don't want to know, no no no I take it back I don't want to know_ -

Percy studies him, piercing sea-green eyes boring into his own in a smoldering gaze, as if he knows exactly what is going on in Luke's head.

( _Is this the same demigod who fought for everything the Gods stood for?_ that same voice whispers, and Luke doesn't know - he doesn't know who this person is - who this person standing in front of him is - )

“I - I do,” Luke stutters out, cursing himself internally for letting his momentary lapse in coherent speech show, but if anything, Percy just looks amused at the sight. Again, he thinks, _Do I know you? Do I?_

The twisted smile on Percy's face drops completely now, as he says, “The Fates dropped you here so you could get a better chance at living your life. You know, if this were a story, they'd do this so you can get the redemption arc you deserve.”

Luke frowns. “Doesn't explain why they put me with you, though,” and then, a second later; “Um - uh... not that you wouldn't be good at making sure I had my proper... uh, _redemption arc_.”

Percy laughs, the sound brittle and strained, and Luke wants to do nothing more than to cringe at the sound of it. _Gods, Percy_ , Luke wonders, looking at this specter of a human being, _what happened to you?_

“Because they hoped that maybe you'd help me as much as I would help you,” the reply comes two seconds later.

Luke treads carefully now, cautiously asking, “Why would they think you need help?”

Percy stares at him, unblinking, hands absently fiddling with the butter knife in his hands. ( _Do I know you? Do I know?_ ) Luke waits patiently, as Percy continues to stare and stare and stare, his gaze unfocused and searching - though searching for _what_ , Luke can't quite tell (but he can guess).

When Percy blinks himself out of his daze, when the answer finally comes, all of Luke's breath knocks out of his chest in one, horrible, terribly heartbreaking moment. 

“Because it's their fault I'm broken, and now they need help fixing me.”

Percy abruptly sets down his knife and swiftly walks out of the kitchen, most likely going to hide in his bedroom.

And Luke -

Luke stands there, staring down at the abandoned knife that twinkles underneath the harsh glare of the kitchen fixtures, heart beating overtime in his throat, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeep happy new years guys!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on my tumblr: [@astronomicall-y](https://astronomicall-y.tumblr.com/)  
> or my twitter: [@astronomicall_y](https://twitter.com/astronomicall_y)  
> link to my discord server if you wanna come and chat: [astronomically idiotic](https://discord.gg/MTYBm5Y7)


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